


every time you smile I feel tremors in my heart

by Thunder_Cakes



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 90s R&B, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunder_Cakes/pseuds/Thunder_Cakes
Summary: Steve finds himself immersed in Sam's music collection. Turns out he and teenaged Sam have a lot in common.Can a box of mixtapes, an old crush and a handful of tootsie rolls bring our boys together? (yes.)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36
Collections: Marvel Undercover 2020





	every time you smile I feel tremors in my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [27dis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dis/gifts).



> For the prompt "Steve and Sam bonding through music"
> 
> I really love song fics and wanted to do something with the music I grew up with, that Sam likely would have as well. 
> 
> lowkey being beta'd atm because time no longer exists to my brain. don't hate me, to be updated soon
> 
> Enjoy!

Sam stands in his living room, checking for his keys, wallet and phone before he heads to work. He glances over his shoulder at his resident super soldier, hunched over another damn file and absently eating his third bowl of cereal. Steve’s been staying with him for a month now while they plan the search for America's Next Top Assassin. He’s the ideal house guest, pays for his own mountain of groceries, always fixing things around the house, relatively quiet but always up for movie night or whatever activity Sam invites him to. His ass may be leaving a permanent dent in Sam’s couch, but Sam can’t say he minds. Still, he worries.

“Alright man, I’m headed out” he calls. Steve’s mumbled response gets lost in his mouth full of cheerios. Sam doesn’t think he’s registered much outside of those files in days. At least it’s not the Winter Soldier’s file. Steve vowed not to read that one while holding anything breakable.

Sam reaches out and smacks Steve’s shoulder. Steve looks up sheepishly and makes a show of swallowing before he tries again. “Sorry. Have a good day at work, Sam.” He grins goofily but his eyes dart back to the file on the table. 

Sam snorts and reaches for his jacket. “Thanks, man. Why don’t you take a break today? Take a walk, watch a movie, read somthing that doesn’t hurt.” He stops at the mirror by the front door, turning this way and that to check and admire the fit of his clothes. 

Steve’s smile falls and he straightens his shoulders. “I’m fine. Gotta be ready, never know when the next chance will be.”

“Well you know how to work the apps if you need a break,” Sam hedges. “My music collection is in that cabinet. Cross some stuff off that list of yours.” Steve nods absentmindedly, glancing back at the cabinet and back down at the folder. Sam pats Steve’s shoulder again and heads off to work. He’s not going to push anymore. Steve’s not a patient, he reminds himself. He’s a friend. He’ll come to Sam if he wants to. 

Still, he should probably stop fixating on his shoulders. 

*

Hours later, Steve sits up straight and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. They’re starting to strain, which shouldn’t be possible, but he suspects it has more to do with the subject matter than the reading itself. He’s hit with the sudden feeling that he’s becoming too comfortable with various Russian words for violence. Steve rubs his eyes harder, wishing he could rub his brain for some relief. He remembers that Buck hasn’t had relief in 70 years and shoots up from the table, stopping himself before he spirals. The urge to focus on literally anything else is suddenly overwhelming. He looks around for a distraction and spots the cabinet Sam mentioned. He might as well. 

Steve opens the cabinet and is shocked by the sheer volume of things inside. He knows most music has gone digital, Nat introduced him to Spotify almost a year ago, so he expected a drawer at the most. Instead, Sam’s entire armoire is full of vaguely familiar tapes, records and stacks of disks. Steve considers not touching anything, it all seems so meticulously organized and he dare not make a mess of something so important to Sam. He glances back at the file on the dining room table and shudders, turning back to the extensive collection. Sam gave him permission, and what else is this photographic memory for? 

He begins to gently unpack the shelves, pulling out boxes and binders. Steve recognizes the records in crates across the bottom shelf, but very little else. He knows most music lives on the internet now, so he assumes most of this is from years ago. He reaches for a fabric binder and unzips the side to reveal pages and pages of shiny disks with faded graphics splashed across them. Steve’s mind jumps to the similar disks Sam keeps in the cabinet next to the television, though those have movies on them. So not exactly DVDs, but something similar. He slides one out of its sleeve to examine it.

WEAK 

SWV 

Still in the sleeve there’s a small booklet with three Black women in pinstripe vests. He replaces the disk and closes the binder, making sure to zip it closed before placing it on the floor beside him. 

The next box holds stacks of little plastic black boxes full of brown film, each with a stranger title than the last. “In Da Crib”, “In Case of Y2K”, or “Chillax” is scrawled in the same lopsided handwriting that Steve suspects belongs to a young Sam. A quick google search teaches him that these are called cds and cassette tapes, respectively. The internet assures him that both are outdated and have been abandoned for supposedly better tech. Steve starts to set those aside, planning on starting with the more familiar looking records, when the box jostles and exposes a tape labeled “For Misty” with a little heart. He guesses by the fading of the label that it’s at least a couple decades old. High school Sam. Steve tried to imagine what his friend was like then, probably smaller and soft faced. He doesn’t know enough about the era to make any other guesses and looks back to the tape for answers.

Something about it, probably that little heart if Steve’s being honest, calls to him. He picks it up and decides to start here. Quickly realizing that he has no idea how to play it, he returns to google. He can’t find a tape deck or cassette player in the cabinet, but the boombox looks familiar. He’s sure he saw one in Sam’s basement when he was fixing the water heater last week. Five minutes and a layer of dust later, he’s back on the floor in front of the cabinet, plugging in the music machine. Using it is pretty intuitive from there, the symbols on the buttons are the same as the tv remote. 

He pops the tape into the deck, settles down in front of the couch and waits. The first song opens with light percussion and warped piano chords. A young, smooth voice slides in to croon about wanting to get to know a pretty stranger, begging for a moment to talk. Steve’s immediately taken back to those first few runs on the Mall. He’d spotted Sam stretching days before he worked up the nerve to pester him. It took three runs, debating how to approach the gorgeous man with a soldier’s posture, before he worked up the nerve. He imagined all the ways he could get Sam’s attention, a hundred conversation he could start. Anything to get Sam to smile at him the way he grinned at his phone during his water breaks. Of course, he went with being a little shit, but it worked. And he wouldn’t have survived the last month without him. Steve googles the lyrics and bookmarks Tevin Campbell’s “Can We Talk.” He thinks he’s going to want to find it again. 

The next song is more upbeat and opens with a sound he can’t even begin to place. The raspy voice croons about sitting alone and pining. Steve laughs and leans his head back against the couch. Well now he knows how teenaged Sam felt about Misty. He sympathizes. It hasn’t been long but he’s certainly a mess over Sam Wilson. 

_ Everytime you smile, I feel trembles in my heart _

The little gap in Sam’s teeth flashes across Steve’s mind. Yeah, a mess is a good description.

The singer vows to pine until it’s reciprocated and Steve groans. He’s pretty sure it already is. He sees the way Sam looks at him, the way they move around each other. This thing between them feels inevitable, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready. Sam’s already upended his whole life and risked his career for him. Steve doesn’t want to take anymore than what’s already been given. He keeps mulling over the thought until the blare of a new horn jolts him into the next song.

More strange, new sounds and the first with multiple singers come together to praise a woman for her very existence. 

_ I like the way you comb your hair; And I like those stylish clothes you wear; It's just the little things you do; That show how much you really care _

Steve thinks of the sharp angle where Sam’s beard and sideburns connect. The way he struts into the house after a trip to the barber, and the way he checks himself out in the hall mirror before he leaves the house. Sam’s incredible confidence astounds Steve. The pride he takes in taking care of himself isn’t something Steve’s ever been able to master. Bucky had it once. That keen awareness of how he presented himself to the world, and enjoying it. Steve’s always just been… Steve. 

He bops along with the rest of the song, barely realizing it’s fading away before the next one begins with an emphatic “I get so lonely!” Steve slams his hand down on the pause button as quickly as possible. Nope. Not going there today. 

Hitting the eject button on the boombox, Steve stares down at the little plastic tape that's managed to stir up all these emotions in him. He realizes what this must have meant for Sam. Sam chose these songs, spent time putting them all together for this to express how he felt for this Misty person. The label stares back, taunting Steve with it’s little heart and mystery name. Steve shakes his head at himself. He cannot believe he’s jealous of some random teenage girl Sam liked some odd 20 years ago, if the songs’ release dates are anything to go by. Ridiculous. He needs a break from his break. 

Steve reaches for another tape.  _ What’s Y2K? _

*

Sam waves as Luna leaves his office, shoulders looking a little lighter than they were when she entered. He sits back in his chair and looks at his notes from this session that he really should type up and file away. His eyes trail over to the top drawer where he keeps his phone. He doesn’t usually use it at work, but with his new house guest around… well. Steve has him breaking all his rules lately. 

Even the new rules, like don’t gaze longingly at your new friend that you’re definitely not in love with. But it’s not like he can ignore the gorgeous supersoldier wandering around his house. It’s hard to ignore those deltoids while he does the dishes every morning. Or the sad slope of his shoulders when he thinks about his friend. Or the way he lights up when Sam comes home at the end of the day. Sam shakes his head. He’s gotta stop. 

He can still check in though, right? One text can’t hurt. 

_ You take that break yet? _

**Oh you have no idea**

Steve’s response comes quick and with a photo of Sam’s long forgotten boombox. Sam laughs incredulously.

_ OH GOD _

_ Well if you’re going there, you really should listen to the party mix _

**And would that be “At Least I’m Not A Scrub” or “Wassssssup?”**

_ You’re never going to let me live this down are you? _

**Nope**

_ Didn’t think so. Just wait until I show you the beer commercials.  _

Sam shakes his head as he puts his phone away, glad to know that Steve is getting some joy in his day, even at Sam’s expense. He could use some culture anyway. Sam glances around his office, at the stack of paperwork on his desk and the clock on his wall. Just after 5. He could stay here, get some more work done, wrap up some cases and be set for next week.  _ Or  _ he go home and help his best friend catch up on the music of his adolescence. 

Sam reaches for his bag and turns off his desk lamp.

He has to laugh as he shuts the rental car door behind him. He can hear the bass of his stereo system from his place in the driveway, booming a familiar rhythm he can’t quite place. Sam can’t say this is what he expected when he directed Steve to his music collection but he certainly isn’t disappointed. He unlocks the front door slowly, balancing a stack of pizzas in one hand and hoping to sneak up on Steve. Apparently unnecessarily. 

Sam’s living room furniture has been shoved out of the way, pressed against walls and bookcases to make room for Steve’s newest project. Sam’s boombox is hooked up to his newer sound system and the 69 Boyz are blaring from the speakers. A youtube tutorial on how to do the Tootsie Roll plays silently on the television. In the middle of it all, Steve is gyrating with the music, tragically off beat. Sam’s never been horrified and charmed before.

“Oh yeah! Dip, baby dip!” Sam calls from his place in the doorway. 

Steve spins around in shock, face ablaze. “Uhhhh” he stutters.

Sam cackles. “This is the best thing I’ve ever come home to.”

Steve blushes and shrugs, laughing lightly at himself. He walks over to turn the music down to a more conversation friendly volume. 

Sam sets their dinner on the coffee table and pulls off his jacket. “So you liked the music?”

Steve flings himself on the couch. “It's incredible, Sam. I knew music had changed, grown. But there’s just so much of it. How did you collect this much of it?” 

“I don’t even know, really. Inherited some of it. Most of it is from high school. CDs were more popular but I always liked tapes,” Sam shrugged. “I thought you’d start with the records. I’ve got some stuff closer to your time in there.”

“I was going to but I got distracted.” Steve looks over at him as if considering a decision before he asks “Who’s Misty?” tossing another tape at Sam.

Sam catches it with a surprised laugh. “Misty! That’s a name I haven’t heard in awhile. Misty was my highschool girlfriend. Wow, I can’t believe I still have this.” Sam stares down at the tape and for a moment it's 1997 again. “Made this for her right after we graduated. She sent it back to me six months later when she met someone else in college. I was  _ devastated _ . You should hear the sequel, lots of Mary J “I Can Love You Better” vibes.”

Steve flips open the first pizza box and nods at the box of tapes on the floor in front of them. “It in there?”

“Should be,” Sam says, pulling it closer. “Oh God! This one!” he gasps, snatching one from the box and waving it at Steve. “Made this for the Great Road Trip of ‘99. Sarah had just graduated high school and Gideon wanted us all to bond as siblings or whatever. It was a disaster,’ he laughs, launching into a story about Sarah laughing until she peed herself at the World's Largest Ketchup Bottle.

Steve is entranced, watching the way Sam’s face lights up as he tells the story. One story becomes another and soon they’re going through the whole box together. Steve asks a few questions, but mostly just listens as Sam tells the stories behind his favorite tapes, why he picked certain songs, and how he’s never been able to throw them away. There's lots of words and references Steve doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t feel like it did when he came out of the ice. This isn’t some strange new world, it's Sam’s world. Steve doesn’t need to know everything, he’s just honored to be allowed a peek inside. Sam’s thrilled to share stories that aren’t marred with shared trauma or tragedies, and Steve is hanging on his every word. 

Both are suddenly keenly aware of how they’re leaning into one another, the space between their thighs dwindling. 

“And this one?” Steve asks, holding up a tape labeled "Sock On The Door". Sam glances at the tape, eyes drawn back to those hulking shoulders that brush his whenever one of them moves and the pretty blush blooming across Steve’s cheeks. "I don't know what this means but considering it has ‘Let’s Get It On’ I can guess."

Sam smirks at him and resists the urge to waggle his eyebrows. “I don’t know if you’re ready for that story yet.”

Steve bites his lip and looks up at Sam through his eyelashes. “Try me.” 

“Actually,” Sam drawls, plucking the tape from Steve’s hand. If his fingers linger against Steve’s for a beat too long, then that’s fine too. “It’s a pretty important lesson in roommate etiquette.” He drops the tape into the boombox and presses play. When he turns back around, Steve is right there, crowding into his space as Marvin Gaye begins to croon in the background. His hand slides around Sam’s waist, pulling him closer by the hips. Sam’s hands instinctively come up to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into Steve’s t-shirt. 

“In that case, you should probably tell me immediately,” Steve murmurs, dipping his head to press his lips against Sam’s.

*

Hours later, Steve lifts his head from where it rests on Sam’s chest. He glances around at the still scattered furniture, pizza boxes and cassette tapes before snuggling deeper into Sam and the couch. He’ll clean it up soon. Under him, Sam hums along with the song drifting lightly from the stereo beside him. His fingers brush up and down Steve’s back, making detours around his shoulder blades and into his hairline. 

“So,” he rasps, tilting his head to look up at Sam. “When do I get my mixtape?”

Sam snorts. “Steve, I made you a playlist weeks ago. It’s the same thing.”

“Oh. You did, didn’t you?” Steve shakes his head. “Well so did Tony and Natasha. Hell, Bruce has sent me Spotify links. How was I supposed to know yours was special? It didn’t even have a little heart on it to give me a hint.” He pouts innocently up at Sam. 

Sam’s pinches the small of Steve’s back, making him yelp, before turning them both so they lay face to face. “I will add a heart to your playlist,” he smiles as Steve squirms away from his hands and into his chest. “Goofball.” 

Steve tucks his face into Sam’s neck and grins. 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know why the idea of Steve Rogers googling "How to Tootsie Roll" is so funny to me, but it tickles me 
> 
> For Misty<3 Tracklist 
> 
> "Sittin Up In My Room" by Brandy '95  
> "Can We Talk" by Tevin Cambel '93  
> "Nobody's Supposed To Be Here" by Deborah Cox '98  
> "I Get Lonely" by Janet Jackson '97  
> “I Like It ” by Debarge '82  
> "Who Can I Run To" by Xscape '95
> 
> I *almost* broke out the Keith Sweat, but that felt a little too Auntie
> 
> Thank you 27dis for this very fun prompt and for the Marvel Undercover team for putting this event together!


End file.
